


Breath of Life

by Delylah



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delylah/pseuds/Delylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a prompt for AvaRosier's Revolution Redux on Livejournal. Prompt: After her third death, Charlie starts to believe there might be something to this 'immortal' drivel after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if the person who submitted the prompt actually wanted a Highlander crossover, but I decided to go in a slightly different direction and left it kind of ambiguous. This is a one-shot, I don't plan on taking this story any further. Also, this story isn't hugely shippy, but it's Jarlie rather than Charloe. Hope I did them justice.

When I was eighteen years old, I fell out of a deer stand and broke my neck.

I didn't realize it at first. I sort of remember falling, hitting the ground and feeling a sharp pain at the base of my neck, then nothing. I woke up a little while later thinking maybe I had hit my head and been knocked unconscious, but when I checked my scalp I didn't feel any knots. So I picked myself up, dusted off the seat of my pants and walked home, feeling more than a little sheepish for passing out from a little pain. I was also ticked at my younger brother Danny for leaving me there without making sure I was okay.

When I got back to our village, I found him sitting on the couch in the living room with his head bowed almost to his knees and his fingers clasped behind his neck.

"Danny, what the hell?" I asked.

When he looked up at me I realized he'd been crying. That's not unusual; he's always been a little on the sensitive side. Sometimes I was even the one to make him cry; big sisters do that to annoying little brothers from time to time. But I knew I hadn't done anything to make him cry, and there was no way I was going to let anyone else get away with it (even if he was six inches taller than I was and outweighed me by at least thirty pounds). I sat next to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulder.

"Danny? What happened, are you okay? Did someone hurt you?"

He stared at me as if I were a ghost. I know everybody says that, but it's the truth.

"Charlie?" he whispered, like he was afraid if he said it out loud I'd vanish into a puff of smoke.

"Were you expecting someone else?" I said. "By the way, thanks for leaving me by myself in the middle of the forest. Did you even check to make sure I hadn't broken anything?"

"Of course I did," he said, gaping at me. "Charlie, your neck was broken."

"Danny, don't be ridiculous," I scoffed.

By this time he'd stopped looking at me like I was ghost and started looking at me like he was afraid of me. He slid along the couch away from me until my arm dropped away from his shoulders, shaking his slowly head from side to side.

"I'm not, Charlie. You weren't breathing. You didn't have a pulse. I did CPR for fifteen minutes before I ran home to get Dad and Maggie."

"Oh my God, Danny, you didn't tell them I was dead, did you? That's a horrible trick to play!"

"It's not a trick, Charlie! I swear, you were dead!" he insisted, leaning forward to grab my arms and give me a little shake. "You were dead. I tried, and I tried, but I couldn't bring you back."

He let go of my arms and instead wrapped them around my neck, burying his face against my shoulder as he sobbed. I patted him on the back, hoping he'd calm down soon. It wasn't good for him to get this worked up. Sure enough, within minutes he started wheezing.

"Danny, it's okay, I'm fine," I said, leaning back so I could take his face in my hands and make him look at me. "See?"

He nodded, but I could tell by the look on his face that he didn't really believe me, that he honestly thought I had died falling out of that tree. He gasped for breath, digging his fingers into my arms as the panic begin to set in.

"Breathe with me," I said, inhaling slowly through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. It was no cure for asthma, but sometimes it helped if the attack was panic related. "That's it. In, and out."

Just then Dad and Maggie burst through the front door, shared looks of distress on their faces.

"Danny, we couldn't find-" Dad began, but when he noticed me sitting on the sofa with Danny . "Oh my God, Charlie. Are you ok? Danny told us you had fallen."

He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me to my feet, enveloping me in a hug for the first time since I was twelve. I could see Maggie over his shoulder, standing just inside the doorway, watching us. Her eyes were reddened as if she'd been crying. She swiped at them with the backs of her hands and gave me a tremulous smile.

"Dad, I'm okay," I said. I gave him a squeeze and then stepped back. "But Danny's not. Maggie," I called, waving her over, "he needs some medicine. I guess seeing me fall gave him a shock."

"I should say so," she said in a wry voice, as she knelt in front of him and placed her ear against his chest to listen to his breathing. She looked up at me and added, "He told us you'd broken your neck."

"I guess he just panicked," I said.

Danny shot me a look of frustrated anger over Maggie's head, but couldn't catch his breath well enough to protest. I shrugged, then I ran to the garage she had converted years ago into doctor's office and retrieved her stethoscope.

"Thanks," she said as she slipped the ends into her ears and placed the diaphragm on Danny's chest. I leaned over the back of the couch next to him and grabbed his hand, breathing with him as I had before. He squeezed so hard my fingers ached.

"Breathe," I whispered. "Just breathe."

* * *

When I was nineteen, I snuck out of the house one night to go skinny dipping with one of the boys from the militia company that passed through our village on their patrol route. They came once a month and usually camped over night near our village. I'd noticed him noticing me about six months before. Our house was almost always one of the ones on the list to be searched for illegal weapons or other contraband. His eyes were the same color as pine bark when it's wet, his hair was close-cropped and so dark it was almost black. His lips were soft and full against mine the first time I kissed him, while he was searching my room. I swear I felt it all the way to my toes.

He passed me notes whenever he visited, asking me to meet him somewhere, but never at the same spot. That July he chose the lake a mile from the village, but he couldn't get away until after dark. I had to wait until everyone was asleep before I snuck out the back door. I also had to bribe the sentry with some moonshine from my dad's stash. When I told him I'd die if I didn't get to go for a quick dip he just winked at me and said he'd join me if only he was forty years younger. I thanked him and promised he could have the next deer I bagged.

The moon was full that night, making it easy to see in the dark, so I jogged all the way to the lake, careful to stay in the shadows whenever I could. There was no one at the small beachfront when I reached it. Disappointed, I turned in a slow circle, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows beneath the trees.

"Jason?" I called softly, afraid the wrong person might hear me if I spoke any louder.

"Here," he called back. When I faced the water, I spotted him, bobbing in the water maybe fifty feet from the shore.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" I asked.

"It's hot," he said. "I needed to cool off."

I stripped down to my bra and panties and waded in until the water was up to my waist. Then I dove under and swam out to meet him, well past where my feet could reach the bottom. Fortunately my dad had taught Danny and me how to swim when we were very young. I popped up again just an arm's length away from where he was treading water.

"Hey," he said, flashing me a grin. "I was starting to think you were going to make it."

"I had to wait for my dad to go to bed. Sometimes he stays up late tinkering with stuff in the attic."

"What kind of stuff?" he asked.

"I don't know. He doesn't like it when we go up there; he says we might break something. I think he's just afraid one of us will haul all his junk to the trash pile some day."

He reached for my hand and pulled me to him until our bodies were flush against each other. When he kissed me it seemed natural to wrap my legs around his waist. He groaned deep in his throat and thrust against me, which is when I realized he wasn't wearing anything at all. He broke away and gave me a cocky grin.

"You know, you cheated," he said, plucking at one of my bra straps. "They call it skinny dipping for a reason. Skin only. Nothing between you and the water."

"Or between you and me," I said. "You're cute, but I'm not that naive."

He just shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he said, as he slipped two of his fingers beneath the strap and slid them downward under the cup to graze across my nipple, which was already puckered from the coolness of the water. I tightened my legs around his waist reflexively and curled my hand around the nape of his neck.

"No, but you can't blame a girl for saying no, either, especially when I know your patrol rotates out next month," I said before I pressed my lips to his again. When his mouth parted beneath mine, I teased his tongue tentatively with my own, the taste of tobacco smoke in his mouth unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He gasped and pulled away when I caught his bottom lip between my teeth and nipped harder than I probably should have.

"Come on," he said. "There's a diving platform out there, isn't there?"

"Over that way," I said, pointing to the the flat, wooden deck that was a dark shadow in the middle of the lakewater that reflected the soft glow of the moonlight. "I'll race you."

Without waiting I struck out with smooth strokes of my arms through the water, kicking furiously.

"You're cheating again," he called, laughing. He gave me five lengths for a head start before he followed, beating me easily to the platform. I was panting by the time I reached it; he wasn't the least bit out of breath. He wrapped one arm around the ladder, the other around my waist and then pulled me to him.

"Where were we?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer; instead he bent his head to mine and captured my mouth with his, tongue thrusting to meet mine eagerly. I curled my legs around him once more, digging my heels into the small of his back so that his hardened length jutted against me, only a thin layer of worn cotton between us. When I reached down, wrapped my fingers around him and stroked, he moaned and reached up to tug the strap of my bra down away from my shoulder. He peeled the wet material aside and cupped my breast, grazing his thumb across the nipple until it tightened. Then he took it between his lips and tugged hard on it with his tongue a couple of times before releasing it, only to capture it again between his thumb and fingers. He rolled the firm peak against his fingers until I was nearly sobbing from the ache it created in that dark, hot place that no one had ever touched but me. In response I swirled my thumb around the silky tip of his shaft with each stroke, eliciting a shudder from him.

"God, Charlie, you're killing me," he said in husky voice, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the ladder, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine. "I think I've been in love with you since the day I met you."

"You're just saying that because I've got my fingers wrapped around your cock and you want to fuck me," I said. I began trailing a series of kisses from his jaw down his neck, sucking away the droplets of water that mingled with the salt on his skin. He stopped me and reached down to pull my hand away, resting it on his shoulder instead. Then he readjusted my bra strap over my shoulder and replaced the cup so that I was covered again. Finally, he placed his finger under my chin and tilted my face up so that his gaze met mine.

"I'm not gonna lie," he said with a short laugh. "I do want to fuck you. But that's beside the point. I meant what I said. I love you, Charlie."

Maybe it was just because I wanted it to be true, but I believed him. And that terrified me, especially since I knew I might not ever see him again after that night. I had to do something to break the tension before it snapped like a rubber band stretched too far and sent us careening in a direction I wasn't ready to travel.

"Prove it," I said.

His eyes widened in surprise, then he flashed that cocky grin, white teeth that were oddly perfect gleaming in the darkness. "

"How?" he asked.

I nodded my head in the direction of the high dive that loomed over our heads. "Jump."

"That's all? Piece of cake," he scoffed.

He hauled himself up onto the platform and and began climbing the ladder to the diving board. I followed, admiring the view with a smirk. His ass had to be one of the most perfect things I'd ever seen.

"You're cheating again," he called, glancing down at me while I stared up at him, unabashed.

"So? You can't blame a girl for looking," I retorted.

He shrugged as if he knew I was right and kept climbing. When he reached the top he called back again. "By the way, your underwear is see-through when it's wet," he said.

I looked down. Damn if he wasn't right. I folded my arms against my breasts to cover them, but there wasn't much I could do about my panties. And I supposed fair was fair. I looked up to see that he had paused at the middle of the diving board, gazing down at the water warily, his fingers gripping the handrails as if they were the only thing keeping him from certain death.

"What are you waiting for?" I teased.

"It's a lot higher than it looks from down there," he said after a long moment.

"Then I guess you don't love me after all," I said with a mock sigh.

He glared at me over his shoulder, but I just smiled sweetly and began climbing up after him. At the top I paused to glance out over the water. I climbed trees all the time when I was hunting, but he was right, somehow the height did seem greater from the top than the bottom. The water stretched out before us, moonlight glinting unevenly off the ripples we had created on surface. It should have been romantic, but all I could think was there could be almost anything lurking under there, waiting for us. The damp night air that had seemed so stifling just an hour ago now held a slight chill. I shivered and wrapped my arms around Jason's middle, pressing against the warm skin of his back to banish the cold.

"You ok?" he asked, covering my arms with his own and rubbing away the goose bumps that had risen.

I nodded against his back. He turned in my arms and slid his own around my shoulders.

"Charlie, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, just a bad feeling. Imagining lake monsters," I said.

"No such thing," he assured me, giving me a quick, hard kiss. "So, are we doing this?"

"We?" I asked. "That wasn't the deal."

He pulled me closer until we were standing skin to skin then slid the fingers of one hand into my hair at the back of my scalp, and pressed the other against the small of my back, easing me up to meet him until I stood on tiptoe. I lifted my arms around his neck and leaned into him for balance as his lips crushed against my own, his mouth hot and wet as he delved into mine.

"New deal," he murmured after breaking the kiss to drop one on the tip of my nose. "If I jump," he paused to drop a kiss on my eyelid, "will you?" he finished, kissing the other eyelid lightly.

"Yeah," I said. "I will."

I knew what he was asking. And he knew what my answer meant. He kissed me fiercely one last time, turned and barrelled off the end of the diving board, tucking himself into a ball and landing in the dark water with a huge splash. I inched my way to the edge as I waited for him to reappear, my heart thumping erratically until I saw his head break the surface of the water. He shook his head to fling the water out of his eyes and grinned up at me.

"Come on, Charlie. It's warmer down here," he called.

 _Too late to back out now,_ I thought.

I stretched my arms over my head with my fingertips pressed straight together and plunged head first off the board, slicing through the water smoothly until my head cracked against what must have been a rock. Stunned, I floundered, unsure which direction was up and unable to move even if I knew. I could hear Jason yelling for me faintly somewhere on the surface, and I prayed he would find me in time. Finally, I couldn't hold my breath any longer and gasped in a lungful of water.

I think people say drowning is peaceful because most drowning victims are unable to scream. For me, it wasn't peaceful at all. I felt as if my lungs were on fire, burning slowly to embers. As the fire faded away, so did I, until I winked out of existence entirely, the same way a spark dies.

When I came to, I was lying on my back with my head nestled in Jason's lap. He was dressed, and he was bent over me with his face buried in his hands.

 _"This can't be happening. This can't be happening,"_ I thought I heard him say, but I couldn't be sure; everything was still fuzzy, and there was a faint roaring in my ears.

I gradually became aware of a heavy weight in my chest and realized I couldn't breathe, so I rolled to my side and vomited lake water onto the sand. As I finished heaving, a hand brushed against my temple, smoothing my hair away from my face, and I looked up to see Jason watching me with a strange expression, as if he couldn't manage to convince himself I was alive.

"Charlie?" he rasped. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. He grasped me under my arms and hauled me up against him so that my head rested against his shoulder and the rest of me was cradled between his knees with his arms wrapped around me. Over and over he repeated, "Charlie, oh my God, Charlie."

I lifted my head a little and reached my hand up to brush my thumb against his lips. His chanting was starting to freak me out.

"Hey," I croaked. "It's ok. You saved me."

He shook his head slowly, the disbelief in his eyes replaced by sorrow, and unless I was sorely mistaken, more than a little bit of fear.

"No, Charlie. I tried and tried, but I couldn't."

I wanted to ask him what he meant, but I was seized with a coughing fit in an attempt to clear the last of the water from my lungs. A terrible sense of deja vu swept over me as I remembered the time I'd fallen from the tree stand a year ago.

"Breathe, baby," Jason said as he stroked my back. "Just breathe."

It would be more than a year before I saw him again.

* * *

When I was twenty, I was conscripted into the Monroe Militia. The weather had been mild that year and food was unusually plentiful. We paid our taxes in corn and salted pork, with plenty left to live on and trade for other supplies as well. Unfortunately, a good year for crops meant a bad year for the Militia. When they didn't get enough volunteers, they resorted to conscription.

The captain of the company in charge of the tax collection and census that year was one I'd never met before, a man named Jeremy Baker. I liked him much better than Captain Neville, whose smile never quite seemed to reach his eyes. Captain Baker was genuinely pleasant, with a kind word for each of the women and children of our village and a respectful handshake for each of the men. The members of his company were well disciplined, never stepping out of line as they went about their tasks of counting and loading. The one time a young man stopped long enough to give me an appreciative glance and a wink as I walked by, Captain Baker barked sternly at him.

"Jeff, you aren't here to flirt with the young lady. Do your damn job or you'll spend the next week digging latrines by yourself."

"Sir, yes, sir," the private answered smartly, snapping his fingers to his forehead in a salute before returning to the task of lifting barrels into their supply wagon.

"My apologies, Miss…." the captain trailed off and looked at me expectantly.

"Matheson," I answered. "But everyone just calls me Charlie."

"Miss Matheson," he said, ignoring my permission to use my given name. "It's very nice to meet you. Again, I apologize for young Jeff. He received a Dear John letter from his sweetheart a few weeks back and ever since then I haven't been able to keep him in line. I keep expecting some outraged father to meet us at dawn demanding satisfaction."

I couldn't help but giggle at the mental picture he made. Jeff shook his head but tossed a grin at me over his shoulder. He was cute, but I'd already spent too much time pining for one soldier. I wasn't about to allow myself to fall for another.

"No harm done," I said. I pointed my thumb at the bow I had slung over my shoulder. "Could you guys use a goose or two?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "Be careful out there, Miss Matheson. I'd hate to see any harm come to you."

His words gave me pause, but I couldn't put my finger on the reason for it. "I always am," I replied. "See you in a few hours."

I returned later with a brace of geese in each hand. When I turned two of the birds over to Captain Baker, he eyed them admiringly.

"You're a good shot. I can't remember the last time I had roast goose for supper," he said. "The boys and I appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure," I said. After all, it never hurt to earn a little extra good will from the Militia.

I was to regret my generosity the next morning. When someone rapped on our front door shortly after dawn. I answered the door groggily, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Despite the fact that I knew Captain Baker and his men weren't the terrorists that some of the Militia units were, I couldn't help the swooping sensation of fear that left my hands shaking as I realized the visitor was one of the militia soldiers.

"All members of the household are ordered to report to Captain Baker in the town square immediately," he said.

I glanced at my father over my shoulder, who had just reached the foot of the stairs. His face was solemn; he knew as well as I did that a summons like this one could only mean one thing.

"Go wake your brother, Charlie. I'll get Maggie."

Within ten minutes we were all dressed and walking toward the center of our village, along with our neighbors.

The silence was eerie, compounding the sense of foreboding I'd felt since the moment I'd opened the door. Captain Baker was standing on the back of one of the wagons with a hat held upside down in one hand. After everyone was assembled he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me for waking you folks so early, but it's time for us to be on our way and, unfortunately, our numbers need replenishing. Are there any of you who will volunteer to join us? You will receive a modest stipend each month, your basic needs will be met, and you will be entitled to one week of leave per year. At the end of three years of service you may return to your family."

No one stepped forward.

"Very well. I have in this hat the names of all residents who are between the ages of 17 and 25. The two persons whose names I draw will be required to serve with us for three years under the terms I just described."

A low murmur erupted from the crowd, but no one protested the conscription. It wasn't the first time the militia had conscripted residents of our village; it likely wouldn't be the last. We had learned in the past that any attempt to challenge the conscription would be met with full force. Beside me, Danny inched slightly closer and slipped his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together. We both held our breath as the captain drew a name and read it.

"Danny Matheson."

Danny exhaled with an audible whoosh. Maggie uttered a horrified "No," and immediately covered her mouth with her hands, as if she wished the word back for fear of punishment.

I can't even begin to describe the look of devastation on my father's face. He placed a hand on Danny's shoulder and squeezed tightly, as if he could keep him there by sheer force of will.

Captain Baker's hand disappeared into the hat a second time.

"Wait," I said, as I dropped Danny's hand and pushed forward until I was in front of the captain. "Please, Danny can't go; he has asthma. Take me instead. Please."

"No, Charlie," Danny hissed under his breath as he joined me in front of the captain and took my hand again. "Don't. I'll be okay."

The captain looked at me with genuine regret. "I'm sorry, Miss Matheson, but I can't allow you to do that. Once the name is drawn, the matter is out of my hands."

I'd already known that, but I had to try anyway for Danny's sake. With his asthma, there was no way he'd last long in the militia, but they didn't make exceptions for any but the most crippling medical conditions. I'd made my decision the instant I'd heard his name called. I took a deep breath and squeezed Danny's fingers.

"Then don't pick a second name. I'll go, too."

All three members of my family spoke at once.

"Charlie, no," my father protested. "I can't lose both of you."

"Oh, Charlie," Maggie said.

"No way, Charlie," Danny insisted. "I won't let you do this."

"It's my decision. I'm going," I said, glancing up at Captain Baker for confirmation. He nodded.

"If you're sure. Gather whatever you'll need that you can carry in a small pack; we're pulling out in thirty minutes."

I smiled at him gratefully. I'd witnessed a conscription with Captain Neville once. He didn't give those kids time to gather anything or even say goodbye to their families. This way I could get the things I'd need for Danny's medicine before we left.

I turned and pulled all of my family in for a hug. "We'll be okay as long as we're together," I said fiercely. "You won't lose either of us, Dad, I promise."

My father's arms encircled all of us as our neighbors drew close around us to offer their support. Thirty minutes later, as we marched out of our village, I wondered if I'd ever see the rest of my family again.

"Where are we headed?" I asked Captain Baker when he fell into step beside me later that afternoon.

"Philadelphia. Our company has been requested to report for duty at the capital for the next few months. New recruits will be provided with uniforms and weapons training there."

"I'd rather just stick with my bow," I said.

"You're pretty handy with that thing," he acknowledged. "But sometimes in combat you have to fight up close and personal. Ever used a sword?"

I shook my head. I had a hunting knife I used to clean my kills with, or to end the suffering of an animal when I hadn't made a clean shot. But a sword? I shuddered at the thought of stabbing anyone. He must have noticed.

"You'd be surprised what you'll do to survive, Miss Matheson," he said in a grim voice. His gaze flicked to Danny, who was marching several rows ahead of us. "Or to ensure the survival of someone you love. Our enemies don't take prisoners."

He meant the Georgia Federation, the Plains Nation, and the Rebels. I pictured Danny in the hands of any of them, at gunpoint, and I realized he was right.

We stopped in a few other other villages along the way where we collected taxes and picked up a few more recruits, conscripted like Danny and I were. After marching for a week, we reached the outskirts of a town called Noblesville, Indiana, where we heard a faint whistling sound.

"What is that?" I asked.

"That's our ride," Captain Baker replied.

There were abandoned cars in and around my village. Once I even found something my dad called a motorhome, but I'd never seen anything like that train. The speed was terrifying, at first, and made me sick to my stomach. Danny laughed when I had to step out onto the platform behind one of the cars to throw up, but he followed to make sure I was okay. He even held my hair for me. I guess it was a nice change for him to be the one taking care of me. Captain Baker stepped out of the car to join us a few minutes later. He glanced at me with a sympathetic smile.

"Motion sickness," he said. "It used to happen to me anytime I took a car ride that lasted more than fifteen minutes when I was a kid. I had medication for it back then. Best thing for it now is to look out the windows, but pick something far away to focus on."

I did my best to follow his advice, but I was grateful to step out onto the platform at the train station in Philadelphia when our journey ended. Captain Baker spoke to his second in command briefly before he approached Danny and me.

"The two of you are with me," he said as he steered us away from the company of soldiers and toward a horse and wagon. "We're going to meet an old friend of your father's."

Danny glanced at me nervously as we climbed into the back of the wagon and settled together against one side of it.

"This doesn't feel right, Charlie," he said. "How could Dad know anyone in Philadelphia? Where do you think he's taking us?"

I was scared too, but I didn't want Danny to know that. I needed to make him focus on something else, so I reached into his pack and pulled out the thermos of ginger tea I'd prepared and handed it to him. It wasn't a foolproof remedy for his asthma, but it helped.

"Drink up," I said, shaking it at him so that the liquid sloshed inside. "You skipped a dose this morning."

He accepted it and drank a few swallows without complaint while I pointed out buildings and people. Danny had been too young to remember Chicago after we left, so visiting a city this size was a new experience for him. After he finished the tea, he joined me, fascinated by the sights and sounds of the first big city he'd ever seen close up.

"Can you imagine what this place must have been like before the power went out?" he asked.

"Yeah, I can," I said. I didn't remember much about Chicago, but I remembered how crowded the sidewalks were with people, and how loud the blare of car horns and sirens were in the streets.

It wasn't long before we left the tall office buildings behind and drove through row after row of houses that had been abandoned long ago because there hadn't been enough yard space for people to convert to gardens to feed themselves. Most of them were crumbling now, being overtaken by mildew, vines, and rot.. Eventually the neighborhoods became more and more spaced out until we left Philadelphia behind entirely.

"You kids might as well kick back and relax, it will be a few hours before we make it to our destination," the captain said.

"Easy for him to say," I muttered. "My butt already hurts. I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of miss that train."

"No kidding," Danny said. "That had to have been more than five hundred miles, and it only took us two days." He glanced down at me and gave me a smirk. "You look like you didn't sleep for two days."

"I was too busy puking," I said, giving him a dirty look.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me into his side. "Sleep. As long as we're together, we're ok, right?"

So I did. When I awoke, it was sunset, and the wagon had stopped in front of a huge structure that had obviously been abandoned for some time. Captain Baker led us inside and down a series of staircases until we entered a room with a few work tables, a beat-up looking metal-framed couch, and cork boards on each wall covered in technical drawings. A blonde woman with her back turned to us was standing at one of the tables, tinkering with a piece of machinery. I grabbed Danny's hand and squeezed tight as a feeling of impending disaster swept over me, raising the hair on my neck.

"Charlie? What's wrong?" he asked.

The blonde woman froze. Slowly, she lowered the screwdriver she'd been working with and gently placed it on the table in front of her, as if she was afraid to move too quickly. Inch by inch she turned around to face us.

"Charlie?" she said in a voice that was just above a whisper. "And Danny, too? Is that really you?"

"Mom?" Danny asked. She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks, and opened her arms to us. Danny ran to her immediately, but I hesitated. I couldn't help it. I'd believed she was dead for so long. She had to be, or she would have come back to us, wouldn't she?

"All this time?" I said, hating the way my voice trembled. "All this time you've been here?"

"I never meant for any of this to happen," she said. "All of this, it's my fault. I needed to try and fix it, but I never should have left you. I'm so sorry."

"Charlie, please," Danny said, and reached out for me. So I went to her, for him. She embraced both of us and before long we were all in tears. We stood together like that for what seemed like ages, until my head ached with a sudden stab of pain. When I groped for the nearby couch, Danny was there to guide me.

"Migraine?" he asked.

I nodded, even though it didn't feel quite the same.

"Rachel, how wonderful it must be for you to be reunited with your children," a man's soft voice said from the doorway. When I looked up, I encountered the coldest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen; not even his charming smile could dampen the effect. My headache intensified for a moment, then disappeared as he walked into the room, followed by three other men. I gasped when I realized one of them was Jason. He gave me a stern look along with a slight shake of his head, a warning not to let on that we knew each other.

"Hello Charlotte, Daniel. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm General Monroe." He was speaking to both of us, but his eyes remained on me, and the enigmatic little smile never wavered.

"Why did you bring them here, Monroe?" my mother demanded.

"I am completely and utterly done playing games with you, Rachel," he replied, finally shifting his gaze to her instead of me. The smile disappeared, replaced by a stony look.

They exchanged barbs, discussing amplifiers and screwdrivers, patriots and pendants. I tried to follow, but it didn't make much sense. I was able to grasp enough to know that whatever he wanted her to do would be disastrous.

"Mom, whatever he's asking you to do, you can't do it," I said.

"Is that so?" Monroe asked. He gestured at one of the men behind him. The next thing I knew, the man pulled out a gun and was pointing it first at me, then at Danny, then back at me. I eased forward on the couch, putting myself between Danny and the man with the gun.

"No," Mom said and lunged in front of us. "No, no, no, no, no!" Jason and the third man caught her and pulled her away, holding her arms behind her back, forcing her to watch. I wanted to yell at him to let her go, that I had trusted him, but something told me that was the worst thing I could do. I tore my gaze from them and focused on the man with the gun instead.

"Mrs. Matheson I'm sorry, but you need to choose which one of your children I'm going to kill," he said, sounding delighted. The way he looked at me made my skin crawl. Monroe watched impassively, appearing more interested in my reactions than in anything else that was happening.

"You son of a bitch!" Mom cried at Monroe, whose gaze flicked momentarily from me to her, then back to me again.

"Which one, the boy or the girl?" the man with the gun demanded. "Choose now!"

"No!" Mom said, her eyes darting frantically between Danny and me and the gun. Across from her, Monroe watched, too, but once again his eyes remained on me, and the strange, almost knowing smile was back. I stood and placed myself directly in front of Danny, the gun inches from my face.

"Pick me!" I demanded, refusing to flinch as I stared down the barrel of the gun.

"All right," the man with the gun said. But instead of aiming the gun at my head, he pointed it at Danny. I could see his finger tightening on the trigger. Suddenly Monroe stepped forward and placed his hand over the barrel, removing the gun from the other man's grasp. For a moment, I thought he was giving us a reprieve. Then he aimed the gun at my heart. There was no dying ember this time. I heard screams, and then there was nothing.

When I was twenty, I was shot to death while my mother and my brother watched.

When I came to, I was in a morgue, lying on my back on a metal table. It might as well have been a slab of ice. I gasped and clutched at my chest, searching for the gaping, bloody hole that must be there. But it was gone.

"Easy, Charlotte. You're back; you're okay. Breathe. Just breathe."

The familiar words had a calming effect, and without thinking about it I did what he asked, breathing deeply in through the nose, exhaling slowly through the mouth. On the third breath, I felt a stabbing pain behind my eyes, not unlike the one I'd felt earlier. I looked over and saw Monroe sitting next to the table on one of those round, wheeled stools that glided effortlessly across a smooth floor. His arms were folded against his chest and he was watching me closely with that faint, knowing smile.

"You bastard!" I shouted. I rolled off the table and leapt at him, swinging wildly. One of my throws connected, catching him in the jaw, but when I tried to land another punch, he ducked, grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back.

"Stop it, Charlie," he said in my ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Hurt me? You fucking killed me!" I shrieked.

"You got better," he said. "You have no idea what you are, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, bewildered.

He released me and I stumbled forward, turning just in time to catch the machete he tossed in my direction.

"You're going to need that," he said. "Keep it with you if you don't want to lose your head. There's a washroom over there with a militia uniform hanging behind the door. Put it on."

"Why?" I demanded.

The remnants of the smile he'd worn when I'd awakened faded entirely and was replaced by the unyielding expression of a man who was used to having his orders followed without question.

"Don't test my patience, Charlotte. You'll find I have none." Once I had changed, he took a cursory look at me and said, "You'll do, but tuck your hair up under the hat."

With one hand on my elbow he escorted me through a maze of tunnels until we reached the outside, where it was still nighttime.

"How long was I…" I trailed off, unable to actually say the words.

"Dead?" he finished. "A day. You revived once I removed the bullet."

"And my mom and Danny?" I asked, unable to keep the anxious tremble out of my voice.

"They're safe," he said, refusing to offer any other information.

"But they think I'm….

"Dead?" he said with a chuckle. " It's okay to say it, Charlotte. You won't keel over, I promise. And yes, they do. They're safer that way. So is young Jason."

"But-"

"Quiet."

We were approaching a couple of militia soldiers on guard duty. They exchanged salutes with Monroe as we passed. We kept walking until we reached a secluded bench in the middle of a small park. There was a man sitting on it waiting for us. Monroe thrust me towards him.

"Take the subway tunnels to Westchester," he said. "It's the safest way out."

"Great idea, except for the mines," the other man quipped.

"Just try not to get your head blown off, Miles," Monroe said in a voice laden with sarcasm. Then, with a glance at me he added, "Or hers."

We watched him walk away until the blue of his uniform was no longer distinguishable from the midnight shadows. My uncle looked at me then for the first time since I was five years old and said, "Ready, kid?"

I nodded and followed him out of the park. He didn't say much at first. I noticed that he had two swords belted around his waist, just as Monroe had, until he'd give one to me. I finally summoned my courage and asked Miles why Monroe thought I needed a sword.

"Uh, right," he said. " I guess you'll need to know the rules. First of all, there can be only one."

"Only one what?" I asked, still confused.

He laughed. "Never mind, it was a joke."

Being shot does not put me in the mood to be receptive to jokes, particularly when the jokes are at my expense. I stopped in my tracks, determined not to move an inch until I finally got some answers.

"Forget the jokes," I snapped. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

He let out a long, low whistle and said, "You're Rachel's daughter, no mistake." When I glared at him, he raised his hands as if to appease me. "All right, all right. Look, kid, we've got all the time in the world for explanations," he said as he slung his arm around my shoulders like we'd been a part of each other's lives for the past fifteen years. "First, I need a drink. I might even let you have one, too."

* * *

When I was twenty-two, I crept into my brother's prison cell and murdered him, sheathing my knife in his heart while he slept. I held him in my arms as he died, his blood spilling over both of us in a flood of crimson, his eyes gazing up at me as they glazed over. When he was gone, I removed the knife and cleansed it of his blood before sliding it back into my boot. Then I waited.

Hours later, when his eyes flew open and he gasped for breath, it was my voice telling him to breathe.

Just breathe.


End file.
